A camp in France
Chateau de Petit Bois
March 29th- April 3rdt, 2009
How does one sum up a week of camp, and even then, a week of camp based in France?
Of course as soon as the kids get here, I get a cold. You have heard it said 'your heath is your wealth.' So I guess I am in the middle class now. But that did not stop me from playing soccer with ten French kids. I mean come on! When else in my life am I going to have that kind of opportunity?
Also if anyone misinterpreted my closing statements from my last blog, I apologize for it is hard to be facetious in basic written text. I love children as long as they don't cross me like that one boy tried to do. Even then, he did it in such butchered English it was cute.
The first day of camp was called 'Ellis Island Day' as all 55 kids came through 'immigration,' 'passport check,' 'customs.' It was easy enough for me who worked as a porter, taking nervous kids and their bag up to their room. I tried to strike up a conversation but they didn't want to talk or maybe I was just speaking too fast. Looking back, I now know that they probably did not understand a word I said. I assumed at the time that these eight to eleven year olds were just nervous from being away from home and having this gangly tall American talk to them.
In 'Congress' – a meeting involving everyone – we introduced ourselves including our camp names after Oreo, our camp director, instructed the kids in French about the entire week. Instructions such as always wear your passport (“no not when you sleep” “no not when you shower”), always ask in English for things at the dinner table, and try to speak English to the non-French speaking counselors. Yet, through out the entire week, some kids just did not get it. There was this one adorable kid named Ken who would start off asking me “Balooo?” and then he would go in a huge spiel of confusing French that I did not understand a word. I would say “Hey, I don't speak French.” but he would just continue another great monologue. So I would pat him on the back and gesture for him to catch up with his classmates or whatever.
Yeah, my name is Baloo. Its fun to hear the French accent on that as they pronounce the “oo” like an “oooo.”
Earlier we had split up in 'families' so that night, Foxy and I received our ten boys and girls for dinner. We were the 'Battleship' family. Here is where I began to realize that their knowledge and capability of handing the English language was worse than I thought. The entire meal Foxy and I gave instructions, pointing and gesturing,
The children picked out “American” names so there are all sorts of kids named Jack, Tom, Bart, Millhouse, Flanders, Homer, Lisa, Hanna, Nicole, and Peyton. Shad was the tallest boy but there was a girl whose name I forget who seemed a little taller. Lisa was the shortest and Kitty was just bizarre. Fifty kids, all in all, make up quite the variety, no matter where they come from.
Again, I wonder how am I to tell you about everything? I am daunted by the impossible task. So I will cut this long-awaited blog short by just saying that the week was fun, eventful, enlightening, and again, fun. As a worker of activities, not a teacher of English, I think I got the better end of the deal. The hours were different yet still both schedules was a lot of work, rest, work, rest. I will be an English teacher before my time is up though. However, the thing is with the camp schedules, only thirty some kids will be coming next week. So they need less people. So I, and two other staff members, are being forced to take some time off. But we are allowed to stay in the chateau for the amazing price of ten euro a night, including food. I am so taking them up on that offer and maybe catch up on my writing, take some strolls past some cow pastures, and chill.
March 29th- April 3rdt, 2009
How does one sum up a week of camp, and even then, a week of camp based in France?
Of course as soon as the kids get here, I get a cold. You have heard it said 'your heath is your wealth.' So I guess I am in the middle class now. But that did not stop me from playing soccer with ten French kids. I mean come on! When else in my life am I going to have that kind of opportunity?
Also if anyone misinterpreted my closing statements from my last blog, I apologize for it is hard to be facetious in basic written text. I love children as long as they don't cross me like that one boy tried to do. Even then, he did it in such butchered English it was cute.
The first day of camp was called 'Ellis Island Day' as all 55 kids came through 'immigration,' 'passport check,' 'customs.' It was easy enough for me who worked as a porter, taking nervous kids and their bag up to their room. I tried to strike up a conversation but they didn't want to talk or maybe I was just speaking too fast. Looking back, I now know that they probably did not understand a word I said. I assumed at the time that these eight to eleven year olds were just nervous from being away from home and having this gangly tall American talk to them.
In 'Congress' – a meeting involving everyone – we introduced ourselves including our camp names after Oreo, our camp director, instructed the kids in French about the entire week. Instructions such as always wear your passport (“no not when you sleep” “no not when you shower”), always ask in English for things at the dinner table, and try to speak English to the non-French speaking counselors. Yet, through out the entire week, some kids just did not get it. There was this one adorable kid named Ken who would start off asking me “Balooo?” and then he would go in a huge spiel of confusing French that I did not understand a word. I would say “Hey, I don't speak French.” but he would just continue another great monologue. So I would pat him on the back and gesture for him to catch up with his classmates or whatever.
Yeah, my name is Baloo. Its fun to hear the French accent on that as they pronounce the “oo” like an “oooo.”
Earlier we had split up in 'families' so that night, Foxy and I received our ten boys and girls for dinner. We were the 'Battleship' family. Here is where I began to realize that their knowledge and capability of handing the English language was worse than I thought. The entire meal Foxy and I gave instructions, pointing and gesturing,
The children picked out “American” names so there are all sorts of kids named Jack, Tom, Bart, Millhouse, Flanders, Homer, Lisa, Hanna, Nicole, and Peyton. Shad was the tallest boy but there was a girl whose name I forget who seemed a little taller. Lisa was the shortest and Kitty was just bizarre. Fifty kids, all in all, make up quite the variety, no matter where they come from.
Again, I wonder how am I to tell you about everything? I am daunted by the impossible task. So I will cut this long-awaited blog short by just saying that the week was fun, eventful, enlightening, and again, fun. As a worker of activities, not a teacher of English, I think I got the better end of the deal. The hours were different yet still both schedules was a lot of work, rest, work, rest. I will be an English teacher before my time is up though. However, the thing is with the camp schedules, only thirty some kids will be coming next week. So they need less people. So I, and two other staff members, are being forced to take some time off. But we are allowed to stay in the chateau for the amazing price of ten euro a night, including food. I am so taking them up on that offer and maybe catch up on my writing, take some strolls past some cow pastures, and chill.
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